The Kids Aren't Alright
by BeautyIsInTheEyeOf
Summary: A day in the life of each main House character... as a child. Who is the most broken? Warnings inside. Rated T, some chapters may be higher.
1. Introduction

**Introductory Chapter**

**Warnings:** May contain swearing, child abuse/abandonment, or some mild violence. If anything else comes up, I'll let you know at the top of a chapter said warning is contained in.

**Rating:** T

**Disclaimer: **I don't own House, M.D. or the song used in the title, which we will get to in a moment.

Everyone's favorite twisted-brained fourteen-year-old FanFiction author is back. Well, if I'm your favorite, I suppose.

This is a story, or rather a series of one-shots, I had the idea for several months ago while writing my first (and only) story, Scars. Go check that out if you haven't already?

Anyways, I feel I need to explain a few things before I begin. One, the title is from the song "The Kids Aren't Alright" by The Offspring. This is not a songfic, but lines of the song may be included (hopefully seamlessly) into the story at different points. The correlation between the song title and the story will be much like Scars was, if you're familiar with that.

Second, each one-shot will be centered around "a day in the life" of each main character of House. However, there's a twist: It's a day in the life of each character _during their childhood._ Some (potentially most) will have several parts to each chapter, showing typical days at several ages throughout their childhoods. They will only be from ages 1-18, at no point will any character be an adult.

Most likely, no main character will visit another main character. Obviously, there will be other characters involved, but they will often be friends or family of that child character. The "main characters" I will be using are these: Gregory House, James Wilson, Lisa Cuddy, Robert Chase, Allison Cameron, Eric Foreman, Lawrence Kutner, Chris Taub, Remy "Thirteen" Hadley, and Amber Volakis.

Here's my favorite aspect of the story: I will be giving the characters with their respective childhood chapters (I feel like I'm using a lot of words that start with 'C') in a specific order. That order will begin with the character I feel had the "best," for lack of a better term, childhood that led to them being less broken as adults than the other characters. Basically, it's going from least screwed up, to a little more screwed up, to "the most screwed up person in the world." Well... I can't promise House will be last. I just thought that quote fit well here. Oops. Since little is known about some of the characters as kids, I am using some things I've picked up on them as adults to make reasonable inferences about them as children.

Anyway, I think it will be fun for you guys to guess the orders in which the characters will come. I am the only one that knows as of right now... and so I decided to make a contest. Well, if anyone cares and wants to play. If anyone can drop to me in a PM what they think the order is, the closest person gets to either choose what I write a one-shot about... or, I can't think of anything else, so I would definitely be willing to negotiate a "prize" with the winner. If nobody wants to play, okay :( I just thought it would be fun if anybody wants to participate. If you choose to, your predictions have to be submitted before I reveal the _second_ character. You may still submit after the first real chapter, or after this introduction if you think you already winner will be announced and contacted via PM at the conclusion of the story.

I will be trying my very best to update on a regular basis. I will try to stay a few chapters ahead so I don't take any four month breaks, but just a heads up, I can only post chapters when I'm at my Dad's, so when I can post will somewhat depend on that. Even if I have a chapter ready, it may take a few days after it's done to post because of that reason.

That's all I have to say to introduce this, folks! Let me know if you have any questions or tell me in a review if you're excited to read or not? :)

Thanks!


	2. James Wilson

**Chapter One: James Wilson**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own House or the song "The Kids Aren't Alright."

**Warnings:** Um... mild swearing and extreme fluff... if that's the term?

**A/N:** Hello, and welcome to the first real chapter of "The Kids Aren't Alright." Quick reminder that after this chapter, you may still submit predictions for the order in which the characters come but after I have posted the next chapter, you can no longer do this.

Onto the story!

"Good morning, Jimmy!" A five-year-old James Wilson woke up to his blonde mother smiling above him. He rubbed his little brown eyes and yawned, pulling his favorite Superman blanket over his head. The abrasive morning light streaming in through the window was threatening to fry him if he didn't take cover quickly. "Come on, sleepyhead, wake up! It's the first day of kindergarten today, and you don't want to miss it," his mother, Melinda, prodded at her son.

The young boy had forgotten about school starting for him this year. He shielded his eyes and hesitantly allowed his mother to pull back his blue-and-red covers to reveal the little, tan kid beneath. Once he had gotten used to the shock of light that came earlier than normal for James, his excitement to go to school had started mounting. He brushed his teeth and wet down his bedhead like he'd been taught to do as his nine-year-old brother, Michael, did the same. Michael laughed at James' anticipation for school and joked with him about how the fifth graders stepped on the kindergarteners and the teachers ate the bad kids.

"Michael, quit taunting Jimmy," the boys' father warned his oldest child. He could hear the banter after he passed off their youngest son, Danny, to his wife. Coming up the stairs and giving his youngest son a hug, he whisked Jimmy off to his room to pick out his clothes. After a few minutes of negotiating what he would wear to his first day of school, a short-sleeved, navy-and-grey striped shirt, new jean shorts, and blue tennis shoes were selected and Jimmy got dressed quickly. His father, David, took a step back to look at his middle child, all-grown-up, and smiled before mussing up his soft brown hair.

"Daddy! Stop, Mom's gonna make me fix it again!" Jimmy shrieked through his laughter as his father made his hair stick up in funny places again.

"Really, Daddy?" the child tried to look up at his father indignantly, but it was hard to take his glare seriously, what with his hair sticking up all over the place. Jimmy patted it down again and gave his father a hug before wandering downstairs to find breakfast.

"Michael, do you need any help?" David called to his fourth-grader. He was a mature boy, mature enough to take care of both himself and Jimmy alone, just not quite enough yet to tackle changing Danny's diapers. David chuckled to himself at his oldest son's attempt of said task the week prior before following Jimmy down the stairs when he heard a 'no' from the direction of Michael's room.

As soon as he plopped down at the table, a bowl of Cheerios, Jimmy's favorite, and an orange were placed in front of him.

"Eat quickly, it's already 7:30 and school starts at 8:15," Melinda said quietly so as not to disturb the feeding baby in her arms. She repeated this again when her older son came running down the stairs. She set his Trix and banana in his seat at the table and he began to eat as well.

Within ten minutes, the two brothers had gobbled down their breakfasts, grabbed their new backpacks, and scrambled into their father's car. Jimmy tapped his feet against the back of David's seat as he drove and Michael noticed.

"Don't worry, I'm sure the teacher won't think you're _that_ dumb," Michael sarcastically reassured his younger brother.

"Michael, enough," David cut Michael off. He turned around to look at Jimmy and gave him a small smile before returning his gaze to the road. "You're gonna do great, Bud," he promised.

The three arrived outside of Lincoln Elementary school at 7:55 AM. After the obligatory picture of the two with Melinda's camera in front of the school doors, Michael ran inside to meet his friends in the fourth-grade hall. Jimmy, realizing the magnitude of the school, hang back and held his father's hand. He poked his father, then asked shyly,

"Can you please walk me to my room? Please, Daddy?"

David chuckled at the meekness in his usually exuberant son's voice. "Sure," he answered and headed down the hallway to Mrs. Andersen's room. Once there, she greeted the little boy warmly and Jimmy saw a couple of the kids he knew played at the park near their suburban home. He fit in quickly and David slipped out silently, flashing Jimmy a smile and a wave goodbye.

[Line Break]

James Wilson, still known simply as Jimmy, writhed on his family's green upholstered couch. The TV across the living room was muted and the curtains were drawn shut. Every light in the entire downstairs, actually, was shut off and Jimmy grabbed his head when he heard Michael's loud music and Danny's stomping from upstairs.

"Mom! Tell Michael and Danny to shut up! My head is killing me!" the seventh-grader complained. It was a Saturday, and Jimmy's day was going to be spent lying on the couch with a migraine. Jimmy flinched when he heard Michael tromp down their stairs.

"Aww, does the unloved middle child have a migraine?" Michael taunted, playfully poking his younger brother's head.

"Yeah, asshole, leave me alone," Jimmy grunted.

Michael laughed and wandered into the kitchen, making sure to slam the cupboard door from where he got his chips extra loud. Then, he ran out the front door, shutting it hard behind him, started his roaring engine, and drove off. _"What a douchebag," _Jimmy thought.

"Jimmy, how's your head?" Melinda asked softly, finally coming out from her and her husband's bedroom where she'd been folding laundry so as not to disturb her child.

"It hurts," the soft, brown-haired boy whimpered to his compassionate mother, "and Michael is being a jerk and he said you guys don't love me because I'm the middle kid."

Melinda looked down at her son and sighed. She wanted to reach out and run her hand through his soft, wavy mop of hair, but it would only hurt him to touch his head right now. He must have obviously believed Michael, she thought, because his deep brown eyes showed some faint betrayal. Maybe he didn't have his usual metaphorical thick skin because he was so sick. His actual skin, usually a warm, tanned tone, looked pale and out-of-place on her son. Jimmy had a way of always looking very warm and cozy and his latest migraine had sucked that characteristic right out of him.

"Jimmy, I love all of you the same. Michael is a seventeen-year-old and takes pleasure in making fun of his thirteen-year-old brother. You will do the same thing to Danny, I promise. Either way, you being the middle child does not make you less loved than anyone else," his mother explained. God, he was being overdramatic. Probably just his middle school hormones.

"Where's Dad?" Jimmy asked now.

"You know he's at work, it's only 5:00. He should be heading home soon. We agreed I'd be the one to stay home to take care of you," Melinda told her son, paused, then continued, "what would make your head feel better? Michael is gone now and Danny is playing a game upstairs. Anything else that would help, kiddo?"

Jimmy smiled at his mother's nickname for him. Danny and Michael never got to be called 'kiddo.' He liked it, even though he could never let her use his pet name in front of his middle schooler friends. They'd make fun of him for weeks.

"Can you just cool me off? It feels hot. And one of those caffeine pills like Dad uses when his head hurts?" his mother had a disapproving look on her face at the suggestion of her son using his father's medicine, "Please? It really hurts," Jimmy begged.

"You can have a Coke if that would help, no pills. I'll go get you a cool washcloth," Melinda responded to her son's request. He nodded and buried himself back into the couch. Moments later, his forehead was being wet down by a cold cloth and he was sipping a Coke. He closed his eyes; their home-remedies were working.

"Let me know if you need something else, kiddo," his mother leaned over and kissed his cheek before ascending the stairs to check on Danny. Jimmy slipped into sleep in much the same way his mother slipped in over the next hour to check on him: Quietly and peacefully.

By 7:00, David Wilson had come home. He crept inside, making sure to quietly click the door shut behind him before setting his things down. Taking off his shoes, he slid across the hardwood floor to look down at his sleeping son. Gently, he removed the cool compress and left to re-wet it before placing it on Jimmy's forehead again.

That night, Michael stayed over at a friend's house so he wouldn't have to avoid the cranky middle schooler at home. Melinda, David, and Danny ate dinner upstairs in Danny's bedroom so as not to disturb Jimmy as he slept. It was a quiet night, but all the same, everyone felt protected and loved right where they were.

[Line Break]

"Danny! Come on! The fight's going to be on soon!" Jimmy called up the stairs to his eleven-year-old brother as he packed up his backpack. It was 7:57 PM on a Thursday night. Four hours earlier, Jimmy had come busting through the front door, almost eager to start and finish his homework before the most talked-about fight of the year was going to be on TV. Days in advance, Jimmy, now actually preferring to be called James, had asked for the TV so he and his little brother could watch the fight. Moments before, James finished up the last of his Algebra II homework and was shoving the final assignment into his bag before he ran up to his room to trade his school jeans for sweats and a tshirt. 7:59 PM.

"Danny, get your ass down here!" he yelled while the match analysis was flashing across his TV. "Now!" he added for emphasis. It was weird, Danny used to love to watch fights and monster truck rallies with him. He barely bothered to open the door of his room to his big brother now. James shook his head, attributing it to just starting the sixth grade. The little guy must have been having a tough time adjusting to middle school.

8:01. The two boxers were on screen, both finishing their warm ups for the match. Finally, Danny trudged down the stairs and he boredly plopped onto the couch with James. James picked up on his brother's demeanor and punched his arm playfully.

"Don't tell me you're not excited to watch this. Or else, I might have to tell all the kids in your school that you act like a girl," the older brother taunted the younger.

Danny wasn't even phased by the threat. "You're probably gay," he shot back, eyes now trained on the screen as he shovelled a handful of dry popcorn into his mouth.

James looked back at his baby brother and laughed before slapping him upside the head. "Watch your mouth," he chuckled. Really, though, he was glad to see the awkward, pre-pubescent kid smile a bit. He had seemed so sad lately, never wanted to return Michael's calls from college or go out with James. In fact, he turned down all of his friends' offers to stay the night or go hang out at a park somewhere. The baby seemed lonely. James rustled his black hair and turned back to the screen. The bell had just been rung and the two fighters were already at each other's throats. James and Danny screamed at the TV and David came out of the adjacent bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist and oversized sweatshirt thrown over his wet chest. He approached his two boys left in the house front behind and put a calming hand over the top of each's head.

"Simmer," he drawled, then laughed at the boys' excitement. Melinda was back in the kitchen pouring wine, knowing the couple would be spending the evening in the bedroom to give the kids one night with the TV. She left the kitchen, one wine glass in each hand, and sauntered up next to her husband, snuggling under his arm. Dressed in pink pajama pants and soft, white slippers, she looked at her husband and two-thirds of her kids to realize how much femininity their home lacked. The walls were plastered with Michael's football and wrestling photos, James' monster truck and boxing posters, and the floors were littered with Danny's car models. She laughed and kissed the kids on top of the head and David's cheek and decided she wouldn't have it any other way.

James wouldn't either.

**A/N: **Well... I don't know. I hope somebody finds this cute or something because this was boring to write. Don't worry, the story shall pick up when we get kids with actually screwed up childhoods. Someone please play my game and send in submissions of the order of the story? Nobody has yet :( And also, review? Thank you!


	3. Allison Cameron

**Chapter Two: Allison Cameron**

**Disclaimer: **Don't own House, don't own The Kids Aren't Alright.

**Warnings:** Mild swearing and half sex. Close your eyes if you're afraid already.

**A/N:** Submitting predictions for the order of the story is now closed. Crying because only one person did it. But I didn't expect much else, for God's sake, the show's been over for three years.

Three-year-old Allison Cameron was a pretty little girl. She had beautiful, curly, dark brown hair that cascaded down her back and rosy, pink cheeks. Her deep hazel eyes stood out against her pale skin and she had a thin, proportionate frame.

Her older brother, Hayden, laughed at the little girl that was trying so hard to scramble up the side of a playset at the park near their home. He sat back and watched the little blur of dark brown hair, jean shorts, and pink sandals try, try, and then _finally_ scale the side of the upward-sloping playset.

"Hayden! Come push me down the slide!" Allison, more commonly known back then as Ally, shrieked to her fourteen-year-old brother. Rising from his place on the bench near the treehouse with a protruding slide, Hayden quickly pushed himself up to where his baby sister was waiting for him.

"Ready, Ally?" Hayden grinned as his sister squealed in excitement, "Okay, one, two, three, go!" Hayden said as he gave Ally one big push down the yellow slide. She laughed as she reached the bottom, spilling out onto the wood chips below like lemonade spilling from a pitcher.

The older sibling laughed and followed her down, narrowly missing the little body that jumped out of the way just in time. She looked shocked that he had almost plowed straight into her, but he still picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. She shrieked with laughter and the two sauntered over to the merry-go-round. Hayden set her down on the red, wooden piece of equipment that was probably responsible for ninety percent of splinters in kids in town. Just as the merry-go-round was about to be set in motion, a group of rowdy-looking boys that appeared to be in about second grade came running over and jumped onto the play equipment, almost shoving little Allison Cameron through the slats in the wood. She cried as the boys, all with tousled hair and dirt-streaked faces, made the play device move too fast and threatened to throw Allison off at any time.

Apparently, the little boys who thought they could do whatever they wanted did not realize that there was an older presence among them. Hayden stepped up closer to the merry-go-round and stopped it with one, muscular arm and looked each boy straight in the eye before scooping his little sister into his other arm. The second graders suddenly didn't feel so masculine when a high school boy looked down on them all.

"Not funny, kids. Pick on someone your own size, not a little girl five years younger than you," Hayden warned the kids.

The group leader looked down. "Sorry," he apologized to the oldest boy there.

"Say you're sorry to Ally. You scared her and nearly pushed her off onto the ground," the protective brother said. He turned Ally around in his arms and set her down on the ground to look at the little boys that had terrorized her.

"I'm sorry, we didn't mean to scare you," the leader said again, looking down at the girl. The other group members nodded in agreement and murmured their apologies.

Ally, having quickly forgiven the boys, replied, "It's okay. You wanted to play, too," and smiled.

Hayden beamed down at his little sister, appreciating what a kind and forgiving heart she had. He thanked the boys for apologizing and gave them a quick push on the merry-go-round before taking his sweet sister by the hand and beginning the walk home.

"You did a good job handling that, Ally," Hayden commended his little sister.

"Maybe they were just sad. And needed someone to pick on to feel better. It didn't hurt to be that person just for a couple minutes," she answered without thinking.

Hayden had thought about what she had said for the rest of the day.

[Line Break]

"I started my new mentoring job training today. I'm so excited!" 

"What exactly is your mentoring job?"

"Well, the school picks an eighth grader to be buddies with a sixth, seventh, or another eighth grader that needs help in school. If you have a buddy, you get to help them with their homework during study hall or hang out with them after school or eat with them at lunch or-"

"That sounds like a good job for you, Ally," Allison's mother cut her off mid-sentence and smiled.

"So, have you gotten your buddy yet?" Allison's father asked. The three were seated at the dinner table. Hayden was in graduate school, studying to be able to teach college math to advanced kids at a high school. He'd already been filled in on Ally's newest source of excitement, chuckling over the phone at her anticipation to start her job.

"I think I'm getting a seventh grader. His name is Randy, Randy Elliott. You heard of him?" Ally responded.

Both parents looked at each other and cringed. They certainly had heard of Randy Elliott, he was one of the boys that had made it into the newspaper earlier that school year with an MIP. He was only twelve years old.

"Er- Ally, are you sure you should be working with a kid like him? His crowd may be a little rougher than yours, baby," her father told Ally.

Ally gaped back at her father. Her soft, pink lips formed a big 'O' and her still-hazel eyes outlined by thick, black eyelashes went wide. "Of course I'm sure! I want to help him! What if I'm the reason he gets better?" she answered back. At thirteen, she was still a bit naive.

"Maybe he just has problems and he can talk to me about them and I'll help him!" she continued angrily.

"We're not saying you can't help him, we're saying he might be dangerous. What if he sucks you into his bad habits?" her mother tried to reason.

Surprised at her mother's accusations, Ally gasped. "Mom, Dad! I would never drink or sneak out!"

"We know, Ally, but even if you don't get into his habits, what if he hurts you when you have to be with him after school?" her father tried again.

"I can't believe you guys think that would happen! I'll be fine! We're supervised when we're not in school together!" Ally cried. Her parents were really going to take this away from her. They were so protective of their little girl and it was getting old.

"Hayden would say it's fine if he knew who I was talking about!" Ally raised her voice again.

Her parents sighed and dropped the subject for the night. Maybe if they talked to Hayden he could change his little sister's mind.

The next day went by uneventfully, the previous night's argument forgotten. However, Ally's mother did call her son to get his opinion on letting Ally work with rough kids. He agreed that she shouldn't hang around this boy, Randy, and that she should either get a new buddy or drop the program altogether.

Several nights later, the small family was back at the dinner table. Ally decided to try and cause a little ruckus by bringing up her day with mentoring.

"I started helping Randy with his math today during my sixth hour study hall. I'm supposed to be helping him learn all of the things he didn't understand from last year," Ally started, then added, "oh, and I'm supposed to have you guys sign this." She pulled an orange slip out of her school bag that had been propped up against her chair along with a pen, and slid the sheet across the table to the two adults.

"Parents of _, please sign here (_) to indicate that your son/daughter is allowed to participate in an after-school mentoring session on Friday, October 19. The visit will be supervised by the school guidance counselor and students will be participating in age-appropriate activities until 8:00 PM," her father read.

"Ally, I don't think so. Even Hayden said he doesn't like the idea of you being around this boy," her mother told her.

"You're kidding, right?" Ally gaped. All she wanted to do was help a kid at her school that had a rough life, to fix his problems, and her parents wouldn't let her.

"We're not kidding," her father placed his hand over top of her mother's, "and we will not sign the form. You may continue to help with homework during school hours, but won't go to out-of-school activities with him. We hope you understand that we want you to be safe."

The younger girl stood up, a look of pure shock and disappointment on her face, and went to throw away her plate of food that hadn't even been touched. Then, she stomped up the stairs and slammed the door to her bedroom, throwing herself down on her soft, purple bedspread. She spiked a bright yellow pillow at the floor and turned over to cry to herself. She couldn't do anything without her parents thinking she'd get hurt.

That Friday, October 19, Ally Cameron stayed home, watching a movie between her two parents on the couch. She had asked to sleep over at Ashley's, her best friend's house, but her parents were concerned she was lying to them and would really be with Randy.

[Line Break]

Ally Cameron stood between her two best friends, Ashley and Alexandria, and a group of boys she didn't recognize. It was 11:00 PM on a Saturday night, the perfect time for a group of upperclassmen in high school to be on the prowl around a small town. She had grown up to be a beautiful young woman. Her still-dark, curly hair was pinned back at the bangs and her skin was pale in the moonlight, even in late June. It was a humid night, and she was stripped down to a short, denim skirt with fringe and a black, open-backed tank top, her flip-flops long forgotten in the backseat of one of the boys' trucks. She thought his name may have been Randy and laughed when she realized that he may have been the boy she was forbidden to mentor in junior high.

She looked around the group. They all lived near each other, all grew up in the same school. Little girls that used to have pink nightgowns now had lacy, black bras and boys that once wore Batman t-shirts were all over those girls in their lacy, black bras. _"How can one little street swallow up so many lives?"_ Ally thought to herself. She looked down at herself, then, and realized she smelled of sex and something sugary. Maybe candy.

Now, she was re-dressed. Really, this was the first time sweet Ally Cameron had ever rebelled, had chosen not to be protected.

"Come on, Ally, do it," a drunken teenage boy slurred behind her, bringing her back to the present moment. _"Right,"_ she remembered, _"I'm supposed to streak through the park."_

They were all scattered about a truck bed, some sitting, some standing off to the side, Alexandria and another kid named Nolan now fucking in the cab.

Ashley spoke up now, "Yeah, come on, you have to do something crazy tonight. You never do."

"And so we chose this dare for you, considering you're the best piece of eye candy we have here," the same boy, definitely Randy, came up behind her and slapped her ass through her skirt.

Ally wasn't phased by the boy's affection. She was, however, phased by the fact that they wanted to strip her naked and run her through her childhood park. This was the same childhood park her and Hayden had played at as kids.

"Hayden wouldn't want me to," she moaned as Randy kissed her neck and gripped her waist.

"Let go, Al, you've been protected for too long," Ashley said.

Ally agreed silently, remembering all the activities her parents kept her away from as a child. She felt an overwhelming need to do this. "Fine," she relented, "do what you want."

The boys cheered and Ashley laughed at her friend. Ally lay, half sitting-up, half lying-down, in the truck bed as Randy hovered over her. Everyone else watched from the side as Randy went to work on their golden girl. He started by stripping off her tight black tank top, dipping his head down for a sloppy kiss. She sighed and leaned back, deciding just to enjoy this while it lasted.

Soon enough, her jean skirt was sliding down her slender legs and she lay in the back of a dirty truck in only a red thong and bra. Randy looked her over, much like he'd done an hour earlier when it was just him stripping and fucking her. His hand lingered over her breasts that were nearly popping out of the bra before he unclasped that single-handedly, other hand roaming over her ass. Finally, her bra was off and just her thong remained. He roughly pulled that off and threw both garments behind him. Hands ran over her bare body and Ally shivered a little in the breeze. When he decided he was done, Randy picked Ally up bridal-style and jumped off the back of the truck. The two landed on the ground, the sixteen-year-old effortlessly handling the thin seventeen-year-old girl. The other boys in attendance looked hungrily at her body and for the first time, Ally felt completely vulnerable. She felt like she was making someone else feel better and she liked it.

"To Ally," Randy began his impromptu speech, "finally no longer a little girl." He smiled and let her out of his arms. She stood there dumbly before another slap to her ass reminded her. She took off running and the group of teenagers whooped behind her, watching her nude body sprint through the park. All was going well, and she was a little over halfway done with her lap.

Then, suddenly, red and blue lights flashed from the parking lot on the other side of the parking lot. Headlights followed Ally and she froze, her friends' cheers freezing as well. An officer left his vehicle and looked from Ally to her friends. It was just a group of high school kids. Still, he reasoned, this may be a good warning to let the kids know not to act like a bunch of jackasses in a public park.

Ally was still frozen. Of course, the one time she did something crazy, she got caught. Unlucky her. The officer strode over to her.

"Hands behind your back," he ordered. Ally complied and hung her head. The officer grabbed her roughly and she was shoved up against the brick wall of a public restroom in the center of the park. "Sorry, girl," he said in a low voice, "but being a little tough on you will hopefully show you and your friends to shape up before something happens for real."

Ally nodded and a couple tears slipped out of her eyes as she was cuffed and jerked back over to the police car. She looked embarrassedly down at her body as the door to the squad car was shut and she was alone in the back. The cop then went over to the crowd of her friends and retrieved her clothes, then dispersed the crowd, letting them off with a warning not to be drinking underage and to go home.

He came back to the car and started it up, throwing a blanket he had in the front over her until she could put her clothes back on. She was grateful for the bit of decency it offered. During the cop's lecture, she leaned her head back and sighed, deciding that while this would be a one-time occurrence, she didn't regret it at all.

**A/N:** Hopefully this was a little more interesting than Wilson's chapter. We knew Cameron had been arrested when she was seventeen, just not for what, so hopefully the last part was a reasonable inference. Remember to review!


	4. Amber Volakis

**Chapter Three: Amber Volakis**

**Disclaimer:** If I owned anything, I would have enough money to vacuum my car without having to scrounge change out from underneath the couch cushions. True story.

**Warnings: **Mild swearing.

"It's a girl!" the delivery doctor cried. An eight pound, six ounce baby girl had just been born to two young parents. The mother smiled through her tears. "Can I hold her?" she asked, just as every new mother did.

"Of course you can," the doctor replied. The baby was perfectly healthy. She swaddled the new little girl into a pink blanket covered in elephants and handed her carefully to the mother. The mother, Rebecca, cradled her new baby girl carefully into her arms, shh-ing the baby's cries.

"What are you gonna call her?" one of the nurses asked.

Rebecca looked at her fiance, Keith. He shrugged his shoulders, looking bored. Rebecca decided to ignore him, as he was being a bit of a downer even at their daughter's birth. She thought for a moment, rolling through the girls' names she had ready when the child was born.

"Amber," she said suddenly. "Amber Michelle."

"Beautiful name for a beautiful little girl," the nurse responded, beaming at the baby who had calmed down. Really, who could blame the girl, apparently named Amber. It must be scary to enter a whole new world.

"It's okay," Keith said in a flat voice.

Rebecca tried to be uplifting, as the nurses and doctor were picking up on her fiance's indifference. "Do you want to hold your baby girl?" she asked, silently pleading with her husband just to hold Amber.

"Sure," he responded. He was only twenty, Rebecca was only eighteen. Why the hell did they already have a kid? He awkwardly picked up the baby, not sure how to hold it. It didn't even look like a person. The skin covering it was wrinkled and the hair was practically nonexistent. As he pulled his child, Amber now, closer to him, she began to cry loudly. He flinched in shock and quickly gave it back to its mother.

Rebecca settled the baby quickly and crooned, "It's okay, I cry when he touches me, too," and giggled at her own joke. Keith looked down on his eighteen year old wife-to-be. She still giggled like a schoolgirl and was too naive for her age. He rolled his eyes and plopped down into a chair near the bed.

The nurses and doctor, having finished their work charting, cleaning up, and making sure Amber was completely healthy, left the room, murmuring 'congratulations' to the new parents on their way out.

Rebecca, absolutely exhausted, snuggled her now sleeping infant into her chest. She looked at Keith, "Well, aren't you excited? You're a daddy now!"

Keith looked back at her. He stood up and kissed Rebecca on the top of the head, then went back to his chair. "She's okay, I suppose," he sighed.

Rebecca chose to take this to mean that he accepted and loved Amber. Sighing, she handed her husband their baby after she kissed her forehead. "Wake me up if you need anything, but I'm afraid I'll fall asleep while holding her if I don't pass her off. I love you, Keith," she rambled before lying back and falling asleep on her pillow. The hells of labor had taken a toll on the new mother.

"Love you, too," Keith mumbled. He peered down at the baby. Still sleeping. "You had better not make me miserable," he told the infant. Immediately, Amber started shrieking and Keith had to try to put her back to sleep. He paced the room with the baby crying into his shoulder. Twenty minutes later, she stopped crying and her big blue eyes stared straight up at her father, almost laughing at his efforts to quiet her.

"What a little shit," he grumbled.

[Line Break]

The stuffy, dusty church air threatened to suffocate seven-year-old Amber Volakis at any time. It was finally the day of her parents' wedding - yes, seven years after it was originally planned. Keith Volakis had never looked happier. He was finally about to marry the girl he believed he truly loved, the girl he had raised their "accident," as he so called Amber, with.

It would be a small ceremony, not small enough that only family was in attendance, but not enough guests to take over an entire orchestra. Amber uncomfortably tugged at her pale pink, ruched dress. She would rather be outfitted in her jeans and favorite GAP sweatshirt.

Amber really felt quite out-of-place at her parents' wedding. She was in an awkward place: too young to be a full bridesmaid, but too old to be a flower girl. Her mother, Rebecca, had decided to give her young daughter the "maid of honor" title, as she had no sisters or close girlfriends to take the job. Not sure how she felt about being her mother's maid of honor, the little girl fidgeted while her grandmother fixed her blonde hair into a half-up, half-down style. Amber thought it made her look very old, maybe as if she was eleven instead of seven. That was funny, they rhymed. She giggled to herself then quickly suppressed her smile when her father came back for wedding pictures with his daughter.

"Doesn't your little girl look beautiful, Keith?" Rebecca's mother smiled at her granddaughter.

"Sure, looks great," he responded gruffly, ready to get his obligatory pictures over with. He crouched down to Amber's level and whispered in her ear without anyone else hearing, "You behave for these pictures so they can be done. No acting up the rest of the day, either, you will not ruin this for me. Got it?"

Amber swallowed and nodded her head to show that she understood. At about age four, she began to pick up on that she was really just in her father's way. He never had hurt her physically, but it hurt when he barked at her to stop talking or that nobody cared about her day that day. It made it easier just to be quiet in his presence.

Through the tension, the pair grinned into the wedding photographer's camera. Several shots were taken, one with Amber on Keith's knee, one with her riding atop her father's strong shoulders, and yet another with Keith swinging Amber around by her small, pink hands. Within twenty or so minutes, the pictures had been taken and Keith had headed out to the rest of the church, as the ceremony was to begin soon.

Before it started, though, as maid of honor, Amber needed to go arrange her mother's veil. The rest of the bride's wedding party watched as Amber climbed up on a stool to stand above her mother, who was tearing up. Not sure what to do, she settled for just setting the veil on her head and giggled as her mother put it tighter in place, then turned around to kiss her little girl on her chapped lips.

Her grandmother lifted Amber off the stool and set her gently on the floor. They approached the door to the church and Amber stood behind her mother. One of her mother's colleagues, a bridesmaid, helped the little girl to gather her mother's train and get it to a position where she could carry it all the way down the aisle. The guests in the pews laughed pleasantly at the interaction taking place, but after a few moments, the girls began a slow walk down the aisle. Rebecca was supported by her father as they shuffled all the way to Keith. The ceremony began and Amber stepped back, hoping she was doing everything right. During the priest's boring monologue, she picked at the white polish coating her nails and thought about how she was ready to go to the reception already.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to the young girl, the ceremony had ended and her parents were finally Mr. and Mrs. Volakis. Other kids at school would not ask why her parents weren't married and she wouldn't have to explain their situation to teachers. She breathed a sigh of relief and followed her mother into the reception. It was being held at a small events center not far from their church. Once again, she gathered the train and this time, danced in, letting her exuberance take over her for a few moments. She was excited: Her mother seemed happier than ever, and maybe because the wedding had finally happened, her father would be happy and like her, too.

No such luck.

"Amber, knock it off, you look immature," Keith glared at his daughter. The brat needed to sit still and complete her tasks as the maid of honor, but she was dancing like a young child would.

She looked back up at him with the expression of a kicked puppy. "I'm sorry," she started, "I was just trying to have fun."

"It's not about you. It's about me and your mother finally getting married, which your birth delayed happening. Now, behave," he grumbled before approaching his new wife for the first dance.

His hurtful words seeded fresh in her brain, Amber sat on a chair near the dance floor, crossed her legs like a lady was supposed to, and waited the night out. Hopefully, she wouldn't upset her father more than she already had.

[Line Break]

Now twelve, Amber came rushing home from school. Her purple drawstring bag flopped up and down her back, riding up on her shoulders and falling down again. She preferred the less-girly bag to a pink backpack because she could put her track shoes in the bag with her homework. You just couldn't fit homework, a book, _and_ running shoes into a girly bag.

Amber Volakis was a fast runner. Her long legs allowed her to extend each step as far as she wanted. A quick turnover combined with legs that went up to Canada made her the speediest girl in her school and she won every PE race or track meet she participated in.

Today, she needed her speed to carry her home quickly. She wanted to tell her parents about an award she'd gotten at school. Finally, her legs had carried her over the mile it was to her house. Popping open the front door, she allowed the bag to fall off her back and wiped the glistening sweat off her acne-riddled forehead. She cursed the awful age of twelve and slid off her flip flops. Her toes were covered in dirt and she'd scuffed the top of the sandals when she accidentally dragged the toe of it across the rough sidewalk.

"Mom!" the twelve-year-old hollered into the house.

A quick response. "Hold on!"

Amber opened up her drawstring bag to pull out what she was so proud of. It was a story she had written that other teachers had judged to be second-best in the class. She knew the boy who had won the writing contest had taken part of his story from another book, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything. They'd probably think she was lying and it would look like she was just jealous.

Finally, Rebecca Volakis ambled down the steps. She was only thirty, still young and beautiful. She donned sweatpants and yellow rubber gloves, covering hands that were carrying a sudsy bucket. She must have been scrubbing floors on her day off. Amber felt a little sad that she had to clean when she wasn't at work, but brushed the feeling away.

"Guess what?" she started, almost bouncing up and down in excitement.

"What's up, beautiful?" her mother replied, giving her daughter a kiss on the forehead before entering the kitchen to pour out the floor water.

"I got second place in a writing contest in our grade today! That's second out of over a hundred people!" the blonde, school-aged girl grinned.

Rebecca smiled back at her daughter. She knew she had a very smart girl on her hands in Amber. "I'm very proud of you, sweetheart," she answered with a hint of excitement in her voice.

"And, even better, I know the boy who won cheated. He totally stole a part of his story from a book. I just didn't want to sell him out. He seemed happy. He just wanted to win," Amber explained.

"I'm even more proud of you for that, baby. I'm sure you wrote a fantastic story, but you still let another kid be happy and take first, even though you lost out," her mother responded. Then, she started again, "why don't you go get cleaned up and you can tell your father when he gets home?"

Amber agreed and laid a copy of her story on the table for her mother to read as she headed up to her room to start her math homework. Rebecca picked up the paper after her daughter had left and she had dried her hands. Interesting. It was about an intercity boy who felt depressed because he believed his mother didn't love him. In the end, she didn't.

Several hours later, Keith came home from his job at a local law firm. He slid off the dress shoes that pinched his toes and loosened his tie, ready to relax for the evening. Slinking into the kitchen, he snuck up behind his wife and grabbed her waist, playfully tickling her hips while she was trying to make dinner for the little family.

Amber had heard the front door open and shut and began almost trembling with excitement. Maybe this would impress her dad! She ran down the stairs and into the living room where her father had relocated herself onto the couch.

"Dad! I was in a contest for a story I wrote at school and I got second place and the teachers said the story I wrote was really good, and I've been so excited for you to get home so I could tell you all about it and maybe you'll want to read my story!" the girl rambled out in one breath, afraid that if she paused, she would be cut off.

Rebecca cringed from the kitchen when she heard her husband's response. "How come you didn't get first?" he asked, bored and indifferent to his daughter's excitement. Rebecca knew that he could be a bit insensitive and harsh towards Amber.

The blonde girl stumbled over her words a bit before formulating a response. "W-well, the boy who won cheated, I know some of his story was taken right from another book because I'd read the other book. I didn't cheat, though, and I was proud that I still got second. Aren't you proud, Dad?" she nervously answered. Honestly, she had believed her parents would be proud of her truthfulness and integrity in completing her work.

His cold, dark eyes bored straight through Amber's light blue ones and he answered simply, "If you're not cheating, you're not trying hard enough."

**A/N:** "Daddy didn't love me enough."

Please review!


	5. Lisa Cuddy

**Chapter Four: Lisa Cuddy**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own House, M.D. or the song "The Kids Aren't Alright."

**Warnings: **

Sitting on the flower-printed couch at her grandmother's house, a young, darked-haired girl wiggled her toes that were hanging off the couch. She really was trying to do her math worksheet she'd been given to complete while absent from school, but was far too distracted to tell which fraction was bigger than another. The half-completed worksheet fluttered to the floor and the girl sighed, leaning her head back onto the couch. Her toes wiggled again and she bounced her legs up and down, up and down.

"Lisa! Dinner!" her grandmother called from the other room. Lisa thought they may be having macaroni and cheese, or something of the sort, for dinner. It was an impromptu visit, so the meal would be a bit informal. Lisa rolled off the couch and stumbled into the small, cozy kitchen. She yawned and plopped down in her seat at the table as her grandma served her dinner on a plate for her. She was right; it was macaroni and cheese. Lisa's Grandma Naomi sat across the table from her young granddaughter and made herself a plate.

Lisa really did love her Grandma Naomi. With a sweet, old face, an inviting smile, and small stature, she was about the least intimidating and most welcoming person in the world. She loved to stay at this house, but wasn't sure why she was.

"Grandma Naomi?" Lisa piped up in between bites of macaroni and cheese and applesauce that had been placed near her.

The old lady responded with a "hmm?" as she looked intently at the little one, wondering what she had to say.

With a big breath, Lisa rambled quickly, "I really do love staying here and I love you so please don't think I'm being rude because I'm not, but why am I here? Why did you just take me out of school and I'm here? And where's Mommy and Daddy?"

Grandma Naomi smiled at her granddaughter, hopefully to ease her nerves so she knew she wasn't in trouble for asking something she was curious about. "Well, you see, I was hoping to tell you later tonight when things were farther along," she started, then paused to take a sip of her Diet Coke, "and your Mommy is having the baby. You didn't think so because she came earlier than she was supposed to, so we weren't really planning on it."

Her little mouth hung open for a second and broke into a smile. "Oh! I thought the baby wasn't coming for a couple more weeks! When can I see it?"

"You're right that the baby wasn't supposed to come yet. Your Mommy went to the hospital to make sure the baby is safe and healthy because she's being born early. Anyway, the pediatric unit of a hospital is no place for a second grader," her grandmother explained, hopefully in a child's terms.

Lisa was scared automatically. Did that mean the baby wasn't going to be safe or healthy? If the baby was sick, it could die. Then, her parents would be sad all the time and wouldn't care about her anymore. Or if the baby ended up living, what if she was still sick and they had to just take care of her? Either way, Lisa was still getting less attention than she wanted. Did she want the baby to make it?

"Oh, okay," she finally responded.

The two finished their meal and Lisa took a bath with the strawberry bubble bath her father had been thoughtful enough to pack in her overnight bag. Letting her head loll back over the edge of the tub, she relaxed and let a single tear slip out of the corner of her eye before dipping under the soapy water to soak her hair.

_ [Line Break]_

Julia Cuddy's skinny, short legs carried her out of her daycare that day. Her older sister, Lisa, trailed behind.

Lisa hated the daycare her mother, Arlene, made her go to after school with Julia every day. Ten year olds were much too big to be subjected to building towers out of blocks and fingerpainting. Day after day, she left her fifth grade classroom and met her three-year-old sister at the yellow building where she had to stay until 6:00. She usually just sat and read her book on a mat in the corner. Laying low, she'd learned, was the easiest way to make the time pass. But today, she'd be going home with a tainted track record and an angry mother.

It hadn't been her fault. Some little bratty boy provoked her. _"What a little punk," _she thought, remembering the situation and cringing in embarrassment.

All she had been doing was coming out of the girls' restroom. When she had opened the door, a sneakered-foot stuck out in front of her, causing her to trip and fall, rather ungracefully for a child as ladylike as Lisa. Her dark brown curls fell in front of her face as she went spiraling forward, landing on her stomach with her ruffled skirt flipped up to expose a peek of her underwear. The other boys, maybe about eight or nine years old, let out high-pitched giggles as she desperately tried to right her hair and clothes.

"I see London, I see France, I see Lisa's underpants!" the original attacker shrieked.

The whole daycare turned to look when they heard the childish rhyme ring out. All eyes were on Lisa when she glared at the tanned, scrawny boy that had caused the whole scene. With one quick motion, she lunged forward, grabbing the much smaller boys' red shirt and backing him into a wall.

The daycare kids cried out in amusement. Lisa's vision went blurry, and soon she couldn't see anything through the revenge she wanted so badly. Angry fists flew and nails screeched down dry skin. The younger boy finally realized his prior mistake and knew he was screwed nine ways from Sunday when suddenly, he could move off the wall and saw Lisa being dragged off of him.

The cruel daycare supervisor they all called "Mrs. Snaggletooth" behind her back had seen the fight unfolding and power-walked over to the two kids involved, yanking off the older of the pair and gripping her by the ear.

"Hey! Wait! This was his fault! He was being mean to me first!" Lisa protested, trying to kick and wiggle herself out of the big woman's hold.

"You are the oldest one in this daycare, so I expect you to be more mature than him," she snarled, still marching Lisa over into the "naughty corner."

Realizing where they were heading and that she'd never been there before, Lisa struggled even further, but Mrs. Snaggletooth had an iron grip on her now-sore ear and fighting was only making it worse. "Please, just let me explain. It really wasn't me who started it! He tripped me!"

The adviser wasn't having any of it, though, and firmly plopped Lisa down on top of the blue naughty stool. Just to add insult to injury, she flipped the young girl around to face the corner.

"I don't care who started it. Now, you will sit here and think about how to treat your younger counterparts, Ms. Cuddy."

Lisa sighed and figured she would be stuck sitting there for the next hour and a half until her mother came. What an embarrassment, ten years old and stuck in the corner. True to her prediction, Arlene Cuddy came to pick up Julia and Lisa at 5:45. When Arlene came in to see her oldest daughter sitting, facing the corner, she immediately pulled aside the daycare adviser and profusely apologized for her daughter's misbehavior, asking what on earth she had done.

The girl in question could hear bits and pieces of the hushed conversation from her degrading position.

"...beat up a younger boy..."

"...sorry... happened... I can do?"

"...discussion... appropriate..."

Suddenly, she felt a tap on her back and whipped around to see her mother's disapproving eyes on her. One wag of the finger, and she was off her seat and following her mother like a kicked puppy as Julia ran off ahead. On her way out, the last thing she saw was the stupid boy that caused all of her problems nursing a black eye, but pausing in his icing to grin snarkily at her. He deserved it.

Finally, the arrived at the vehicle and Lisa had finished the recounting of events to herself. As Arlene buckled Julia into her booster seat, Lisa took her seat in the back, staying quiet and preparing for what was to come.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Arlene whipped around to look at her oldest child. "What were you thinking?!" she hollered, face turning purple with anger. "Beating up on just a little boy?! You should be ashamed of yourself!"

Lisa tried to explain, but it wasn't coming out right. "H-he started it, and I ju-"

"You engaged in a petty fight with a child younger than you? You're not better than that, Lisa?" she bit back, starting the car and bitterly revving the engine.

"I- He tripped me, and my skirt went up and he embarrassed me!"

"And that is when you stand up, smooth your skirt, and walk away like a lady. You do not react like a beast! You gave him a black eye and he has scratches on his face, not to mention his shirt that you ruined."

Julia, too young to fully grasp what had happened, piped up from her seat. "Mommy? Why is Lisa in trouble?" her little voice timidly inquired.

Arlene sighed. "Honey, she did a bad thing and hurt someone else," she stopped, then added while looking in the mirror at her older daughter, "I certainly hope you never behave in such a way, Julia."

"Oh, I won't Mama, I promise," she squeaked before closing her mouth.

The ten-year-old, realizing that her mother was just using the little one to plot against her, had to speak up again. It happened all the time. Julia was always the sweeter one. "You would've been fine if it would've been Julia! You like her better! You're nicer to her!" she cried, tears freely rolling down her face. "It wasn't my fault! He was a jerk!"

"You know better. I expect more from you," Arlene responded. The car pulled into their driveway, but the girls' father wasn't home yet.

"Julia, honey, would you please go pick out some pajamas and get ready to take a bath? Until I call you, you can play in your room," their mother dictated, and Julia obligingly scurried off, not wanting to lose her favorite-child status.

As soon as the little Cuddy was out of the room, Arlene turned frustratedly towards Lisa, who had her head down. "So, let's recount. Today, you acted like a small child, physically hurt another kid, and talked back to me. Three offenses. That is unacceptable and will not go unpunished. I'm not doing anything because I dislike you, as you seem to think, but you clearly need some more structure."

An hour later, Lisa Cuddy was sitting at her desk on a red, sore bottom in her pajamas. From the doorway, Arlene watched her write her apology letter to the boy she'd beaten on with Julia on her hip.

**A/N: It's not three parts because this was incredibly boring to write. I've held off on posting because I was trying to add another part, but I just couldn't. Next part should be much better, as we'll finally get kids with real issues.**

**Please review!**


	6. Chris Taub

**Chapter Five: Chris Taub**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own House, M.D. or the song "The Kids Aren't Alright."

**Warnings:** Swearing, self-harm, possibly triggering

The oak door slammed shut. The brass lock on the handle clicked. The squeaky faucet turned over, and hot water shot out of the shower head, pounding the ceramic wall it faced. Clothes were roughly yanked over the head and off the legs and slapped onto the tile floor. The pale, stocky body clambered ungracefully into the tub and landed underneath the blistering stream, deciding to stay there.

He hadn't really needed a shower, but Chris Taub had needed to _get the fuck away_ from his parents' vicious fighting. Over the screaming and yelling, his tearless sobs protected him from the heartache that existed outside of his shower. The louder he sobbed and gasped, the quieter his nit-picky mother and laidback father seemed. It was a dance he was introduced to young; it was a game that he would always lose when he had to stop crying and face the reality that his parents hated each other.

Per the usual, he had forgotten how long he'd been on the bath mat covering the white floor of his shower. Maybe it had been ten minutes, maybe it had been ten hours. It was hard to tell, but he sobbed on, for it was his fault his parents were angry with each other. It always was.

Some time later, he had cried himself out. His chest wracked with silent whimpers, but the loss of the constant, steady song of his sobs opened the door that protected him from the sadness that would've plagued him if he stepped out of the shower. In a desperate attempt to drown out the arguing again, the young boy bashed his head on the wall behind him. It worked. _Thud._ Again. _Thud._ Again. _Thud._ In careful rhythm, Chris banged his eight-year-old cranium on the wall over and over again. Not only did it silence his parents, but maybe it would knock him unconscious. He laughed darkly at the idea.

But eventually, all good things must come to an end. His skin resembled an elderly prune and he was hungry and exhausted. Sighing, he rose from his sitting position and turned off the water, which had been running cold for some time now. As the faucet screeched its way to the right, he was met with something peculiar. _Silence._

The quiet was peaceful, but almost immediately, something crushingly heavy fell upon his strong shoulders and saddened heart. That same depressed heart sped up in his chest, thumping upon itself how his head thumped upon his shower wall. Anxiously, he dried off his wrinkled skin and slicked-back hair, reaching back just once to touch the spot at the base of his skull he'd abused. Sore to the touch, but somehow satisfying to know he had caused it. With a new sense of calmness instilled in him, he wrapped the fluffy, brown towel around his body and opened the door to the rest of the house.

And then, he wished he hadn't.

His mother sat across the hall, face steady, eyes closed. _Silence._

"Where's Dad?" the child asked, afraid of the answer.

From the painstaking way she completed the simple task, it seemed as if his mother's eyelids had weighed a hundred pounds. When her eyes finally popped out, the dark, deep brown was overshadowed by the redness of the normally white sclera. Chris' breathing accelerated slightly, wondering if his mother was crying or drunk. Knowing her, both options meant equally bad fates for the child present. If she was drunk, there was no doubt he'd be screamed at viciously. Her foul, alcohol-scented breath would assault his nose, her bitter words would drip off of her tongue like acid. If she was crying, she wouldn't stop for days. She'd bawl and sob without end, rendering her incapable of taking care of Chris. Instead, he'd be making sure she showered and ate.

No emotion. No tears dripping down her face, only a slight, sweet alcohol breath. Drunk, but no screaming when she finally replied, "I don't know, probably fucking his girlfriend."

"What does that mean?" the wide-eyed child asked, unsure of what the term "fucking" meant when used as a verb.

"That we're getting a divorce."

_ [Line Break]_

It had been six years since that fateful conversation in the hallway of the Taub home. The young, confused boy from then had grown into a bitter teenager. The stoic mother hadn't yet moved on from the disloyalty of her ex-husband. The freed father had remarried and had a little girl, Farrah, with his new wife.

Like any product of divorced parents, Chris rotated, week-by-week, between his parents' homes. At least while at his mom's, living in the house seemed natural. At his father's, he felt like the black sheep in a new family.

School felt no better. _Nobody_ else had divorced parents - their families, what with all their problems, refused to separate due to religion and morals. There was simply nobody to talk to about the despair, the loneliness, and the misunderstanding he felt on a daily basis. As for the children of happily married parents, hearing them talk about family vacations and both parents coming to their sporting events killed him. Every time he overheard a classmate going on about their happy home lives, he desperately wished he could jump straight back into his shower to sob the pain away, but that was never an option. While at school, there was no way out.

His tortured soul made him torture his body.

It had started out with a rubber band constantly around his wrist. Nothing big. A tall, blonde girl would giggle all during class about how her mother and father must have conceived the new baby that was on the way. He snapped the band and felt less jealous. An annoyed boy would complain to his friends about how much of a baby his little sister was because she still slept with both of his parents. He snapped the band and felt less inclined to lunge out and punch the boy.

_ "At least your parents still sleep in the same bed,"_ Chris thought bitterly to himself, then added, _"shit, they didn't even do that when they were married."_

The rubber band took away the emotional pain for as long as the sting of the snap lasted.

As they grew older and into curious junior high schoolers, kids would ask him questions like "which house do you like better?" and "whose side were you on?"

Chris would always tell them he had never picked a side because he didn't think it was fair. Bored with his answer, the other young teenagers would leave him alone with the question. By avoiding answering them, Chris had to answer all of their probing questions to himself.

Some days, that was just too much.

He'd just started shaving the stubble off his neck and face and realized that a nick from the razor stung similarly to his trusted rubber band.

So, one day in January, when a kid at lunch bravely asked him how it felt when he found out there was going to be a divorce, he looked at the nosy boy with hard eyes and gave his response.

"Like getting thumped in the back of the head a thousand times, then getting one hard, resounding blow that would knock you down and leave you there."

Shocking the other boy and himself with his answer, Chris took off down the hall to get away, snapping his rubber band the whole time. It just wasn't working today, though, and nothing was able to take his mind off of what he had just said. Now, rumors would start and kids would talk and he'd be an even bigger outcast than before. The pace of his breathing picked up and he could feel an anxiety attack setting in as he furiously, violently popped the rubber band against his wrist but found no relief. A very familiar shaking began and he knew if he didn't get himself under control soon, a teacher or student would come down the row of lockers and find him on the floor.

Through his clouded and muddy thoughts, something called to him. Maybe it was the devil, maybe it was an angel, but something called his name. It wanted to help.

He first heard his name as a whisper, so faint it must have come from a very delicate, sweet creature. As he picked his head up, it got louder and clearer and it lured him back to his locker. Inside the blue metal encasing rested his overnight bag to take as he transitioned from his mother's to his father's that night, and inside the green backpack rested his shaving razor.

The voice that seemed to be emanating off his razor begged him to pick it up. He did so, and slid it in his hoodie's pocket.

Without another thought, he slammed his locker door shut and bolted towards the boy's bathroom, locking himself in a stall and yanking down his pants to expose the creamy, pale flesh of his thigh. He popped off the plastic cover to see the fresh blade.

_ "One touch, one gentle, delicate touch of my cold metal to your unmarked thigh will make it all okay,"_ he imagined the razor telling him, but that was all he needed.

He positioned the razor at a sideways angle and dragged it from his hip down to mid-thigh, allowing himself to feel his skin rip and blood burst out. When he lifted the razor, his head slumped back and he let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

Hurting himself was so much less painful than being hurt by others.

_ [Line Break]_

"Hi, Chris. It's nice to meet you. I'm Dr. Olesen. Today, we're just going to build up a little background information."

Chris Taub was more than unhappy that his mother had sent him to a psychiatrist to "talk out his issues." Oh, he was straight pissed that he was here. He was sixteen years old, and the last thing he wanted was to have to talk about _feelings_ with some strange man he'd never met.

You see, he wasn't here because his mother cared that he was still upset about the divorce. He wasn't here because she discovered he was cutting himself. No, he was here because he was just as much of a piece of shit as his father. He had cheated on his first girlfriend.

Rationalizations didn't convince his mother. No matter how many times he tried to tell her, Chris just couldn't get her to believe that he didn't mean to do it. He hadn't wanted to cheat on her, but another girl just came by and swept him away for a night.

_ He'd known it was wrong, he just didn't think his girlfriend would find out. It was only going to be a one-time deal, never to happen again. With this thought in his mind, he took his new girl back to his mother's house, where his mom should have been sleeping. They snuck into the cool basement of the house and snuggled together on the couch. Within moments, talking bored the two hormonal teenagers and Chris' tongue landed in the girl's mouth; his hands roamed her back down to her butt. She was just as into it as him and wrapped her tan arms around his neck, leaning in deeper to the kiss._

_ Suddenly, a light flipped on and Chris no longer was afraid of his girlfriend finding him out. His mother already had realized this dark-haired girl was certainly not the strawberry blonde who had been over for dinner several times._

_ Snarkily, she looked at her son's surprised face and asked, "oh, so you and Jasmine must have broken up, correct?"_

_ Going from awkward due to the intrusion to infuriated by the information, the girl looked at Chris and quickly removed herself from the couch. "You have a girlfriend? And you invited me here?" she questioned him angrily._

_ "Well, yeah, but, it wasn't gonna happen again. And she wasn't gonna know," the teenage boy sputtered out._

_ "Oh, so that makes it perfectly okay! I'm going home," she tossed bitterly back at him, picking up her pink jacket and stomping out of the home._

_ As she left his basement, Chris glared at his mother. His mother stared back at him, eyes full of disappointment that her son had turned out to be a dirty cheater and liar, just like his father. _

_ "Obviously, this unfaithfulness is an issue that runs in the Taub blood. You're going to visit a psychiatrist, maybe they can do you some good," his mother told him._

Events leading up to sitting in this stupid, plain office having played through his mind, he looked back at the man, apparently Dr. Olesen.

With an unwavering smile, Dr. Olesen looked at the silent teenager sitting in front of him and reassured the boy. "Don't worry, I understand that having to come into an environment where you have to talk about yourself feels... _different._ I'm just here to talk to you and to make sure you feel safe and comfortable."

Chris nodded curtly back at the psychiatrist. "Why do you think I'm here?"

"I think you're here because you need to talk."

"I think I'm here because my mother called you to resolve my 'cheating issues.'"

"I think you're here because you want to talk about what made that happen."

At a stalemate, Chris observed the doctor. He was seated in a padded chair with his legs crossed, notebook resting on his lap, end of a ballpoint pen in his mouth.

Annoyed, Chris asked plainly, "seriously, what do you want to know? I'm ready to leave."

"I want to know what you want to talk about," he replied calmly, ignoring the second, rude part of the boy's question.

"Why would I want to talk about anything serious with a stranger?"

"For some people, it's easier to talk with a stranger than a close friend or family member. Have you ever tried to speak seriously with someone you were close to?"

Chris thought about his attempted conversation with his father at different times. After the divorce, when his new half-sister had been born, and when he'd picked up the cutting habit were the three times he'd tried to have a serious talk with his father. The man was just too carefree and goofy, though, to have a real conversation with. Afraid he'd lose it on the prying therapist and without a blade, he snapped his rubber band against his wrist as he popped out a "nope."

"You hesitated. You're lying. Tell me about it."

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's irrelevant."

"Nothing is irrelevant. In a similar way, everything is relevant."

_ "What an arrogant and annoying jackass,"_ Chris thought to himself, preferring to stay quiet than respond to the man in front of him. Clearly, he'd only wanted to run circles around Chris' brain.

Dr. Olesen, drawn to the badly-hidden pent-up emotion in the teenager, quietly thought of what to say next. Out of sheer curiosity and to serve his own agenda to see how his new patient would respond, he inquired, "so, when did you start hurting yourself?"

Chris' neck cracked like a bullet as his head shot up, glaring into Dr. Olesen's eyes. "I don't," he challenged.

"Then why do you have that rubber band around your wrist?"

He pulled the band off his wrist and stretched it back. Then, he let it fly, nearly hitting Dr. Olesen's forehead but settling for letting it whiz slightly above his head, making him flinch.

"So I could do that," he replied sarcastically.

Not tripped up by his actions, Dr. Olesen continued his attempts at speaking with Chris. "You know, I'm not here to bully you. I didn't even ask that question because I wanted to know the answer. I already know. What I didn't know, and was trying to find out, was how you'd react," he told his young patient. When Chris just glared back at him, he continued.

"I know you're a self-harmer. I knew as soon as you trudged into this office and I saw that rubber band around your wrist. You only confirmed my suspicions by snapping it when I first started to put you under the tiniest amount of stress. By these observations, I can infer that when put under greater stress, you depend on your cutting or burning habit, whichever suits your fancy, to get you through it. Now that we've cleared that up, what's putting you under so much stress?" he finally finished.

Shocked by the psychiatrist's very clear understanding of how he was able to function, Chris' mouth hung slightly agape, exposing his pink tongue and white teeth. He shook his head and let down his guard slightly. "How did you know all that?"

"Years in the business. Also, I just told you. So, seriously, what's bugging you?"

A little unprofessional, Chris had thought, but he opened up slightly. "I don't know, my mom, my dad?

"How so? Putting too much stress on you to make stellar grades, fighting around you?"

Chris re-thought his previous answer. "Well, not really my dad. Mainly my mom, but it's not her fault. They're divorced. She's still all broken up about it, eight years later."

"And so are you, huh?"

"I guess."

"Earlier when I'd wondered if you'd ever talked to anyone about anything, you've tried to, haven't you? And it just didn't go the right direction?"

"You're right about that."

"How does that make you feel?" Dr. Olesen asked, finally giving an open-ended question to the adolescent.

"Think about something like that third grade science experiment where the teacher would fill a bottle with water and take your class to the school kitchen. Then, she'd put it in the freezer and tell you to guess what would happen when your class went back the next day. Do you have that in your head?"

Dr. Olesen pictured the scene, then responded, "yes, I do."

"When the class of kids comes back the next day and opens the freezer, I'm the bottle."

**A/N:** Was feeling a little angsty over my parent's own recent divorce and their will to continue fighting even after the separation, and out popped this. Hope you enjoyed, please review! Your comments make me smile so much.


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